Spoiler-filled thoughts on THE BRUTALIST*****

THE BRUTALIST is a masterpiece. It is a challenging, deeply felt, meticulously constructed, and largely superbly acted film that is thought-provoking in the best sense. After watching it I was filled with questions and emotions - I was buzzing - and the film resonated in the days following the screening. I could only be thankful that I had another screening lined up. This is a film that I needed to sit with, ruminate over, and rewatch.

Writer-director Brady Corbet (VOX LUX) and his co-writer Mona Fastvold have crafted a script that truly speaks to our times.  Issues raised include the brutal exercise of power by oligarchs - the othering and condescension toward immigrants - the violent insecurity of the intellectually inferior - the need for sanctuary in an anti-semitic world - the need for emotional and sexual connection in an atomised and traumatised world.  And then there is the perennial struggle of the artist versus the capitalist patrons and corporates who fund their work.

All of this intellectual complexity is brought to bear in the fictional figure of Laszlo Toth. He was a Brutalist architect in Hungary before World War Two, but expelled from his profession by the Nazis for his unGermanic work.  He was then separated from his equally talented, intellectually voracious wife Erzsebet, and both sent to concentration camps which they miraculously survive.  As the movie opens, Laszlo is in the belly of a ship about to land on Ellis Island. His wife and niece Zsofia remain in a bureaucratic hellscape, trapped in Europe.

The prologue of the film immediately upends our expectations with the upturned Statue of Liberty.  Laszlo (the magnificent Adrien Brody) is rendered impotent by his wartime experiences, and finds solace for his loneliness, trauma, poverty, alienation and physical pain in the heroin he was given for his broken face on board the ship.  He is welcomed by his cousin Attila (Alessandro Nivola) who runs a furniture store in Philadelphia - then at the height of its industrial pomp. Attila offers one method for survival - complete assimilation and abnegation.  Atilla has married a gentile - nothing wrong with that - so did Laszlo - but Laszlo's wife converted.  Atilla has gentilised the name of his business and toadies to his rich customers.  The welcome that seems warm soon becomes one of rejection.  Atilla has no truck with Laszlo for losing him business and his blonde shrill wife accuses him of sexual assault - a classic anti-semitic trope to pull.

We then move into the meat of the first part of the film - the relationship between Laszlo and his patron - Harrison Lee Van Buren Sr - again magnificently rendered by Guy Pierce as a Kane-like figure.  He is vulgar and loud and ridiculously wealthy. But he is also intellectually insecure - a working class kid raised by a single mother who never went to university but surrounds himself with rare first editions.  He may be superior to Laszlo in every single materialistic way - but he can never be as cultured, nor have Laszlo's taste, nor destroy Laszlo's independence of mind. And for a man who covets and owns, and wants Laszlo as a vanity-pleasing prop, this drives Van Buren mad. I loved the purity of this first half.  The battle between the two men.  The beautiful breaking of ground and coming-to-reality of Laszlo's gigantic community centre and chapel. 

In the second half of the film, the narrative framing device of letters from Laszlo's wife becomes real, as both Erzsebet and Zsofia arrive in Pennsylvania after many years' separation. Here we see further physical and mental damage caused by the Holocaust.  Erzesebet (Felicity JoneS( is in a wheelchair because years of starvation have damaged her bones. Zsofia (Raffey Cassidy) is so traumatised that she cannot speak. The arrival of Erzsebet if further proof to Harry of his intellectual inferiority.  She is an incredibly smart, perceptive, strong woman, who studied at Oxford and returned to Hungary as a journalist. It is no coincidence that Harry tries to find her work as a journalist not in Philadelphia but in New York. She is a threat to his jealously obsessive relationship with Laszlo.  

There is an inevitable argument over money and the project is paused. But Harry inevitably begs Laszlo to come back and the project recommences. We then move to Carrara, Italy for a bravura set-piece segment that seems infused with mystery, a dreamlike unreality, and emotional tension.  Laszlo is reunited with a marble cutter who might look like a dreamy artist but fought the fascists - exhibiting more manhood and courage and moral acuity than someone like Harry can conceive of.  We are now, for the first time in the film, completely in Laszlo's world and Harry has, metaphorically, the wrong shoes for the journey. Is it any surprise that it is here that Harry sexually violates Laszlo in an attempt to reassert the power dynamic, in a scene foreshadowed by his nephew violating Zsofia?

And how fitting it is that real loving sex will resolve this narrative. Laszlo has been impotent for much of the film, despite the inducements of sex workers and porn, and then the entreaties of his wife. They finally achieve climax under the influence of heroin, which he has administered to her for her pain in desperation.  It's an incredibly moving, intimate scene, and has a fever-dream aspect which we will only see the ramifications of when Erzsebet confronts Harry with his crime against Laszlo. For a man so wrapped in his self-perception and vanity, he cannot recover. And this is the end of the "American Dream" for Erzsebet too. She too will follow Zsofia and make aaliyah to Israel. 

We then move to the epilogue of the film where we learn that Laszlo is being feted at the Venice Biennale in 1980.  His commission was indeed finished and now its meaning is explained.  Laszlo was not just being stubborn about its proportions as any artist might.  He was stubborn because he designed it while still separated from his beloved wife, to represent their separation and internment in two different concentration camps.  And so we discover the true meaning of a Cross created by absence - the gap between two concrete cut out pillars - that cannot meet, but the buildings are united by the subterranean level of the complex. 

There is so much to love in this film - the audacity of its length, its thematic scope, its incredible performances....  On that last topic the only slightly false note for me was Felicity Jones somewhat inconsistent Hungarian accent as Erzsebet. I even wondered if they inserted the line about Erzsebet studying at Oxford to explain the occasional middle-class English lilt breaking through. Counter-balancing this we have the breakthrough performance of a lifetime by Joe Alwyn as Harry Jr and the deeply moving potrayal of Zsofia by Raffey Cassidy. 

Behind the lens, the production is flawless.  Cinematographer Lol Crawley (WHITE NOISE) films in close focus Vistavision, a technique contemporaneous to the story and worth seeking out in 70mm prints.  This gives the film a kind of visceral feel of intensity, with saturated colour.  I also cannot speak highly enough of Daniel Blumberg's stunning score, that goes from orchestral classical to jazz to electronica.  

Overall, I feel that what Brady Corbet has done in this film is of equal importance to what Paul Thomas Anderson did with THERE WILL BE BLOOD. It's a movie that does something that you have not seen before, that moves you, provokes you, envelopes you in a unique vision, aurally, visually. It's so far above the run of the mill film that if feels as though it's from another universe. 

THE BRUTALIST is rated R and has a running time of 215 minutes. It opened in the USA on December 20th 2024 and opens in the UK on January 24th 2025.

BLONDE*****

 

Andrew Dominik is a director of rare talent. THE ASSASSSINATION OF JESSE JAMES BY THE COWARD ROBERT FORD remains one of my all-time favourite films, and its worth considering BLONDE in that context. Because as with that film, BLONDE is about exploring the reality behind an avatar, a myth, an icon, and about trying to find some kind of emotional truth in a story that everyone thinks they know.

It is also worth stating, given some of the criticism that has been levelled at this film, that neither the film nor the book by Joyce Carol Oates upon which it is based, are meant to be straight biographies. Oates states very clearly in her prologue that if you want a factual, historic book about Marilyn Monroe, then this isn't what Blonde provides. Instead, she and Dominik are creating broad categories of experience, inspired by the known facts, and partly by speculation, to interrogate the myth of Marilyn Monroe and the lived emotional experience of what it could have been like to be Norma Jeane. If you approach both the book and film from that perspective, you will reap dividends.

The film is faithful to the book but adds something further thanks to a sensitive, vulnerable, brave performance from Ana De Armas as Norma Jeane, and Dominik's deep knowledge of, and visual invention around Monroe's iconic films, looks and performances. There's a moment where we see Armas' character in tears facing herself in a mirror and putting on the megawatt smile of Marilyn. It's a masterclass in acting the part of a woman who feels alienated from her own creation. Behind the lens, Dominik's use of black and white versus colour and different shooting techniques adds to the impression of a woman so divorced from her own image that the centre cannot and does not hold.

We begin with Norma Jeane's horrific childhood in Hollywood - at first at the hands of a mentally ill mother, then in and out of foster homes, and escaping early into a marriage. We then fast forward to Marilyn in Hollywood, a pin-up star who is raped by Mr Z at her first audition. This movie does not shy away from the sexual empowerment of Norma Jeane and the sexual exploitation of Marilyn Monroe. She isn't always a victim. She chooses her first polyamorous relationship and her two marriages. She also chooses to leave The Former Sports Star (Bobby Cannavale) when he beats her. And in her professional life, as in that aforementioned scene, Norma Jeane is able to put on Marilyn the character for her own financial advantage and is also able to out argue The Writer about his plays. We see her negotiating pay with her agent. Norma Jeane has agency and control.

But as Marilyn, she is serially exploited on and off screen, by producers who rape her, directors who condescend to her, and finally by the President who rapes her, then aborts her child. This last flight of imagination is the most controversial in reviews of the film, but I feel gets to the emotional truth of how the inspiration for The President treated the women in his life, and how powerful men treated Marilyn. Did JFK actually knock her up then abort the baby? I have no idea. What this film is saying is something truthful about power-relationships then and now. I also found it painful to watch how graphic the scene with the President was, but it felt it was absolutely right to show it that way. The film shows the reality of sexual exploitation. It does't cut away. But it also doesn't frame it in a way that is fetishising the actor's body. It focuses on her face, her reactions, her internal monologue as she's experiencing the abuse. How can you tell a truthful story about this woman without showing that?

As you can tell, I both really admired this film and got really frustrated by the reactions to it. I feel that people aren't judging it on its own terms but as something that it isn't: a truthful by the numbers biopic. And in doing so, they are missing out on a vital, provocative and incredibly well-acted account of a woman who attempted to wrestle Hollywood to the floor and got stomped on in the process. 

BLONDE has a running time of 166 minutes and is streaming on Netflix.

THE GRAND BUDAPEST HOTEL

Wes Anderson's THE GRAND BUDAPEST HOTEL is a wondrous set of films within films and memories within memories of a world that never quite existed and yet has such a profound resonance with our own.  It begins with an earnest young girl making a pilgrimage to the memorial of an un-named writer (Tom Wilkinson) in an unspecified Mittel-Europische town. In a technical flourish we change aspect ratio and film stock - something that the unversed viewer will only subliminally mark as a shift in perspective - to see that writer as a middle-aged man, trying to give a po-faced TV interview about how he wrote his now famous work about The Grand Budapest Hotel.  He sits in a perfectly appointed 1970s apartment - every attention paid to the production and costume design - his focus disturbed by his mischievous son shooting a BB gun.  Echoes to THE ROYAL TENENBAUMS, and once again, a shift in perspective and memory.  We unravel another layer of wrapping paper to this box of magic and go back further to a Central European Soviet setting with that peculiarly gharish and soul-destroying imposition of dun-coloured formica upon the face of our beloved majestic wedding cake ostentatious Grand Budapest Hotel.  A now younger writer, played by Jude Law, comes across a mysterious vaguely exotic hotel guest (F Murray Abraham) who invites him to dinner to reminisce about the hotel's hey-day.  And at last, we are at the heart of the box of tricks, in the mythical country of Zubrowka, in the mythical hotel that established a kind of aristocratic service that only ever existed in the fictional Browns Hotel of Agatha Christie, or in today in the grand hotels of Venice, like the Danieli or the Gritti, that aspire to give us a sepia-tinted view of the past closer to Downton Abbey than reality.

The lynchpin of the story - the man who gives it its drive, its power, its comedy and its tragedy - is the hotel concierge Monsieur Gustave, played with delicious camp glee by Ralph Fiennes, in his funniest role to date. He squires the hotel's ageing guests, genuinely delighted in their attentions and gifts - a man so far removed from reality and yet utterly self-aware. The mechanics of the plot sees his M. Gustave inherit a priceless (fictional!) piece of art from Madame D., a wonderfully aged up decrepit Tilda Swinton, invoking the ire of her mean son Dmitri Desgoffe-und-Taxis (Adrienne Brody) and his henchman Jopling (Willem Defoe.) There follows a kind of caper movie as M. Gustave secures his prize, is thrown in jail, and conceives an escape with his fellow cellmate Ludwig (Harvey Keitel) and the legendary Society of the Crossed Keys led by Bill Murray.  All this, and I haven't even mentioned Zero yet!  Zero is M. Gustave's protege, a refugee from somewhere vague and oriental, with no-one to look after him and no papers, hence the name.  And it's the relationship between the camp, extravagant M. Gustave and this earnest, lost little boy that gives the brilliantly shining mirror of a movie its dark backing.  For in this fictional world, a fictional SS is about to arrest Zero for having incorrect papers, and when M. Gustave calls them "darling" and explains that they can't POSSIBLY arrest the Bellboy at The Grand Budapest Hotel, we see the clash between the hermetically sealed world of Wes Anderson and the dark realities of European history.  We see that behind the indulgently rich detailed creation of hotel liveries and scrumptious pastries in delicate ribbon-tied boxes there is a reality that mean and in antithesis to all the values of heroic friendship that M. Gustave embodies. And suddenly this fairytale world becomes even more tragic because we truly understand how fragile it is, and our minds are drawn back to its fate as a crumbling 1970s Soviet bloc bath-house. 

The standard take on Wes Anderson is that he always made these delightfully detailed, beautifully imagined confections whose only failing was their solipsism and similarity. But now, with THE GRAND BUDAPEST HOTEL, he has finally made an important film, whose profound subject matter lives up to the wonder of the detailed design indulgence.  But when you sit back and really think about it, his movies have always contrasted hermetically sealed children's worlds of wonders,and shown the tragedy inherent in confronting reality.  They are monuments to the infantile shock at the adult world.  RUSHMORE quite literally memorializes a school;  THE ROYAL TENENBAUMS is about returning home to mother in the shadow of incest, suicide, addiction and death; and MOONRISE KINGDOM uses the metaphor of Noah's flood to show our loss of innocence.  Parents are frail, love is desperate and doomed, children are overlooked and hurt.  Wes Anderson's worlds may be as scrupulously curated as a beloved Victorian doll's house, but they are dangerous places.  The only difference in THE GRAND BUDAPEST HOTEL is one of scale - the stakes here are higher - it is not just a single child losing innocence, but a whole European civilization caught on the pyre of a fascist war. 

What IS knew in GRAND BUDAPEST HOTEL is the continuous, raucous comedy, that is far more sweary and frank than much we have seen before in Wes Anderson's films, as well as the patchwork of overt homages to different film genres and directors. We have the chase scene involving the lawyer Deputy Kovacs (Jeff Goldblum) that feels like something out of THE THIRD MAN, and the jail break scene that's straight out of THE GREAT ESCAPE, as well as countless other nods to the films of Powell and Pressburger (especially Colonel Blimp).  The humour seems to be something taken from an Ealing Studios caper comedy starring Sir Alec Guinness, and overall, the movie has the air of something from wartime British cinema.  This together with the deft and deliberate handling of the differing aspect ratios, and the self-conscious use of miniature work and stop-motion animation, coupled with the over-arching theme of memory, mis-memory and world-building, makes THE GRAND BUDAPEST HOTEL, par excellence, a self-conscious movie about cinema.  It's a film that addresses full-on our need for escapism - what else is it that the hotel sells to its old-maid residents?  It's a film that sympathizes with that need, and delights in providing it, but which also knows the limits of that fiction - and that when confronted with violent reality - the confection inevitably melts away.

This is then, for all those reasons, Wes Anderson's most thoughtful, entertaining, technically accomplished and tragic film to date.  It's also, for those that care, the best movie of the year to date. 

THE GRAND BUDAPEST HOTEL premiered at Berlin 2014 and is currently on release in the Netherlands, France, Belarus, Belgium, Germany, Greece, Israel, Macedonia, Austria, the UK, Ireland and the USA. It opens on March 13th in the Czech Republic and Kazakhstan; on March 14th  in Canada and Lithuania; on March 20th in Hungary, Singapore and Slovakia; on March 21st in Spain, Norway, Romania and Sweden; on March 27th in Argentina and Denmark; on March 28th in Estonia and Poland; on April 3rd in Brazil and Chile, on April 10th in Australia, Italy, New Zealand and Portugal; on April 11th in Finland; on April 18th in Turkey and in June in Japan. 

CADILLAC RECORDS - fails to catch fire

Writer-director Darnell Martin has created a biopic, but not of a single figure in music history, as with RAY or WALK THE LINE, but of a record company - Chess Records. Founded by a pair of Polish immigrants (one of whom is excised from this story) who sold records from the back of a cadillac, the label was home to the best and most influential blues and early rock acts: Muddy Waters, Howlin Wolf, Etta James, Willie Dixon, Chuck Berry and Little Walter. With such a cast of icons, it's great that Martin manages to quickly essay their back stories, their characters, and to convince us of their musical talent. In this, she is helped by a tremendous score from Terence Blanchard. The movie also tackles head on the race issue: black musicians having their musical heritage appropriated by white people who could play to a larger audience and hence make more money. The acting is fine throughout, but Jeffrey Wright stands out as Muddy Waters and Beyonce Knowles is surprisingly good as Etta James - indeed the only truly dramatic scene is where James is high on heroin and having an emotional crisis with her record producer boss (Adrien Brody). And therein lies the problem, this movie never quite catches fire. Like the worst kind of reverential history, it's just one damn thing after another. Still, blues fans will luxuriate in the period music and the great musical set-pieces.

CADILLAC RECORDS was released in the USA in December 2008 and in the UK, Spain, Germany, Australia, Sweden, Italy earlier this year. It will be released in Japan on August 15th and is available on DVD.

London Film Festival Day 14 - THE BROTHERS BLOOM

THE BROTHERS BLOOM is the visually delightful but ultimately self-indulgent follow-up film from writer-director Rian Johnson. His first film, BRICK, reinjected noir with a teen sensibility and seemed genuinely unique. It's tragic, then, to see Rian Johnson decide to make a film that seems to be something of a Wes Anderson rip-off. The elaborately designed sets; the anachronistic costumes; the richly choreographed sight-gags; the international jet-set milieu; the suffocating family relationships; the longing romanticism........oh, it's all there. And if the best of Anderson is present in this movie, so too is the worst. All that carefully placed beauty and absurdity does get a bit, well, boring after a while. And the layers and layers of artifice alienate the audience, and prevent us from feeling the reality of the attempted emotional ending. So much for the critique, what of the substance? THE BROTHERS BLOOM opens with a tour-de-force prologue which is narrated entirely in rhyme in a sort of Dr Seuss fashion. Two orphan brothers grow up poor in a rich town. The younger romantic boy wants to talk to a sweet girl but can't work up the courage. So his protective older brother comes up with a complex con in which he'll make some cash, his brother will impress the girl and all the kids will think they've stumbled upon a magic cave. Fast forward twenty years and the elder brother (Mark Ruffalo) is still trying to find the perfect con and the younger brother (Adrien Brody) is still looking for real love. They are joined by a female Japanese equivalent of Silent Bob (Rinko Kikuchi) and their mark, cloistered millionairess Penelope (Rachel Weisz). The first hour of the film is brilliant fun. Kikuchi steals every scene she's in and Weisz shows that she has real comic acting ability. Even Ruffalo and Brody are fine. The problem is simply that the fun and games go on too long and deaden the impact of the ending. 

THE BROTHERS BLOOM played Toronto and London 2008. It goes on release in the US on December 19th.

THE DARJEELING LIMITED should take its own advice

"Stop feeling sorry for yourself. It's highly unattractive."

I was non-plussed by THE DARJEELING LIMITED when I watched it at the London Film Festival. Because I had previously enjoyed many of Wes Anderson's films, I thought maybe my non-reaction was due to cinematic overload in the preceeding fortnight. So I decided to give the flick another shot after a suitably relaxing Thansgiving break had put me into a more receptive mood. Sadly, even after a second viewing, I have to report that Wes Anderson is, to my mind, a director offering diminishing returns.

His new movie, THE DARJEELING LIMITED, treads familiar ground. So much so that THE ONION spoofed his style brilliantly last month. The production design consists of interiors over-stuffed with meaningful objets and the characters wear tailor-made suits and carry bespoke luggage. We are in the ranks of the over-privileged and self-indulgent. The camera draws attention to itself by switching between static symmetric framing; sudden changes of focus; and the jarring use of slo-mo (usually to a vintage Kinks sound-track.) There is an absent father figure and a beloved but somehow distant mother. There are siblings who are struggling to deal with each other and their parents. There is a troubled boy, played by a Wilson brother, who attempts suicide.

In previous, better films, Wes Anderson used this set-up to create characters that were memorable and love-able. He brilliantly articulated the dynamics of family relationships but also provided light relief throught witty banter and improbable situations. His movies have always looked deliberately designed but pre LIFE AQUATIC, they also had heart.

THE DARJEELING LIMITED is, by contrast, a deeply boring, unengaging and alienating experience. Three self-obsessed, self-pitying brothers cross Rajasthan by train, feigning interest in spiritual enlightenment but skating on the surface of things. Anderson doesn't so much satirise the dumb, luxury-lined tourist as simply present him for our consideration. As a result, where we should have laughed at, and with, our protagonists, we find ourselves bored by their emotional ugliness. Surely, it must be possible to make a movie about superficial people on a dull journey that is not of itself superficial and dull?

As dull as this movie is, it might have been forgiveable were it not for one serious mis-step. This centres on Wes Anderson's use of a tragic event as a deus ex machina. His exploitation of an Indian tragedy to facilitate a change in the American protagonists is woefully exploitative, in that he never pays any attention to the impact of this event on the Indian characters. They are merely authentic background details. And this brings me to a wider inconsistency in the piece. For much of this movie, Anderson implicitly criticises superficial tourists who do not engage with the places they travel in and, specifically in the case of India, see it as a means to their own spiritual enlightenment rather than a worthy subject of study in itself. But, on the other hand, Anderson is guilty of exactly the things he is criticises. India is no more than a facilitator that is lightly skated over.

Finally, Anderson's sheer lack of humility is infuriating. Given how generally tedious, emotionally dry and morally vacuous this movie is - how completely unengaged with India - Anderson's musical nod to Satyajit Ray appears presumptuous in the extreme.

THE DARJEELING LIMITED played Venice and London 2007. It opened in Canada and the US earlier this year and is currently on release in the UK, Brazil, Denmark, Sweden, Australia and Norway. It opens in December in Denmark, Sweden, Australia and Norway and in January in Germany, Singapore, Italy, Spain, Russia and Iceland. It opens in Estonia, Turkey and the Netherlands in February and in Japan, Argentina and France in March. It opens in Finland in April 2008.

HOLLYWOODLAND - great performances mask a structural mess

HOLLYWOODLAND purports to be a movie about the truth behind the apparent suicide of George Reeves. Reeves was TV's first Superman. The problem with the movie is not so much that it doesn’t tell you who did it. After all, it’s touted as one of Hollywood’s great unsolved mysteries. The problem is that actually, bluntly, I just didn’t give a shit. And the reason why I didn’t give a shit had nothing to do with the acting – which varied from fine to brilliant. It was to do with the way in which the writer and director had chosen to frame his story.

Ben Affleck has won awards for his performance as George Reeves, both as Best Actor and Best Supporting Actor. I think that this confusion as to whether or not his character is at the centre of the film is indicative of the fact that the writer and director really haven't made up their minds as to what the focus of the movie is. Is it on the charismatic and tragic George Reeves? It’s certainly a compelling story. We meet him as a slightly out-of-shape actor – a real gent – but down on his luck. He aspires to take on serious parts in quality films but he can’t get a break. He ends up starring in a cheap kids serial just to earn some cash. But, almost to his embarrassment, the serial turns out to be a huge success – to a nation of kids, he is Superman. Reeves drinks heavily and rues his cheap fame. Typecast, he can’t break into serious films. He’s also railing against the possessive hold of his sugar-mama – the wife (Diane Lane) of the VP of MGM (Bob Hoskins) – and takes up with a young brazen actress from New York – “to make him feel young”. It’s a tragic story of a man who, despite success, is not satisfied that he has lived up to his potential – and Ben Affleck portrays his inner turmoil well. It’s his best performance in years – not because Affleck went through a phase of being a lesser actor, but because he chose terrible parts.

Thing is, as fascinating as this story is, we never get a handle on it because it’s essentially a partial story told in flashbacks – little vignettes uncovered by a private detective investigating George Reeves’ alleged suicide. Half of me wishes the director had just used a conventional biopic format and let Reeves’ story have some time to breathe, but the problem is that the over-laid detective story is in some ways the movie's greatest asset. This is because as much as it destracts from George Reeves it contains the stunning performance of Adrien Brody as the private detective, Louis Simo. Simo is hired by Reeves’ mother to investigate the alleged murder. Brody’s performance is pure charisma – he plays Simo as a guy with intelligence, charm and an eye to the main chance. But he’s more than just a natty line in sports-coat and smart line for the press: he’s a good man. Although he starts off on the make – drumming up a little press to keep the mother’s cheques coming, he is genuinely aghast when he realises there might be some truth to her claims. He genuinely wants to protect his girlfriend from the mess and seems to have a real need to get some closure on the case. You sense that the director wants to make a big deal about Louis’ relationship with his young son as well. I can see why the director wants to do this – it helps flesh out Louis’ character as well as show the modern audience just how popular Reeves was with the kids and just how much his death affected them. This plot strand is interesting and well acted – but once again, it just distracts from the main story and further confuses the issue of just who’s story this is.

One final point brings me back to the issue of the unsolved crime. Like I said, this didn’t bother me too much, but it certainly makes HOLLYWOODLAND a different kettle of fish to, say, CHINATOWN and LA CONFIDENTIAL, both of which have Byzantine plots that do eventually resolve themselves. By contrast, in HOLLYWOODLAND, the alleged murder is more of a MacGuffin to allow the director to explore two interesting characters and the impact of Hollywood’s latent corruption and greed on their lives. Of course, CHINATOWN and LA CONFIDENTIAL are also brilliant examinations of the cruelty and decadence at the heart of LA and they do this stuff far better than HOLLYWOODLAND, which deals with corruption on a domestic rather than systemic level.

I am pleased to have watched Hollywoodland and can recommend it purely on the grounds of production design, Adrien Brody’s outstanding performance and some decent play from Diane Lane and Ben Affleck. But Brody aside, I can’t quite understand the Oscar buzz. This week alone I have seen more impressive performances in movies like SHORTBUS, INFAMOUS and BUENOS AIRES 1977. Moreover, performances aside, in terms of narrative structure I think this movie is a real mess.

HOLLYWOODLAND played Venice 2006 where Ben Affleck won Best Actor. It opened in the US in September and in Italy in October. HOLLYWOODLAND opens in the UK on December 1st and in the Netherlands, Spain, Brazil, Argentina, Belgium and France in February 2007. It opens in Australia and Germany on March 15th.

KING KONG - 90 minutes stupendous boredom, 90 minutes cinematic genius

You should definitely see KING KONG and, if at all possible, you should see it on the big screen because it is one of the most beautiful and brilliant love stories ever photographed. However, you should be sure to take a lot of food and a discrete video gaming console for the first ninety minutes which, super visuals aside, suck ass. Let me explain.

00:01. The movie opens in 1930s New York. It is the Great Depression and there are people who have - the rich movie producers who only care if a movie contains boobies - and the havenots - notably the renegade film-maker Denham and our heroine, out-of-work actress Ann Darrow. People wear snazzy clothes and speak in declamatory statements that end in exclamation marks. ("You mean the world to me!" "He died for what he believed in!" "He never met his mother" "Noooooooooooooooooooooooh!" etc.)

00:30. Ann takes a chance on a renegade film production. The Orson Welles-like egomaniacal film director has hijacked a boat and camera crew and is a bound for the uncharted "Skull Island". The captain is spoooooooooky and there are lots of stupid B-movie film tricks, like creeeepy music, and Extreme Close Ups of Jack Black's crazy eyebrows.

01:00. We get to the spoooooky island. It's all a bit Scooby Doo, especially when the locals arrive in grass skirts and spears. Mean locals kidnap lovely Ann and sacrifice her to Kong; film crew go to the rescue shooting awesome footage along the way. Bina007 would not, at this point, be surprised to see Oompa Loompas.

01:30. Movie flips into absolutely convincing and genuinely heart-breaking love story between hot chick and large ape. Thanks to CGI, ape has all the warmth and facial expressions of Gollum a.k.a British thesp. Andy Serkis. Naomi Watts, the fanastically talented actress who rose to prominence in the wonderful David Lynch flick, MULLHOLLAND DRIVE, gives Ann Darrow real warmth and credibility. Despite the clear absurdity of the match, the audience finds itself rooting for the ultimate Odd Couple.

01:40. Skip back to stupid-ass dinosaur scenes. They look awesome, but advance the plot not one iota. Peter Jackson feels very happy with himself for having topped Jurassic Park but to what end? Jackson could have dropped these scenes, saved me half an hour and his production company $50 million. Only slight plus point is crew member's gruesome death by evil giant sucking slug thing.

02:15. Back to New York, where the captive Kong is put on show by the eeeeeeevil Denham. Kong escapes, shares quality time with girlfriend atop Empire State Building, airforce intervenes.

02:53. Jack Black, alleged comedian and actor playing evil director Denham, massacres one of the most iconic lines in movie history: "Well there you have it: beauty killed the beast."

02:55. Credits roll.
03:10. Credits end.

KING KONG went on global release yesterday.